How Single Dads Celebrate Father’s Day
The year that followed my divorce was the most difficult of my life. Overwhelmed by panic, despair and confusion, the hardest thing for me was the possibility of it having a corrosive effect on my children. However, through acceptance, forgiveness and love, my ex and I found a way to celebrate our time together and truly become friends. Although involved in my children’s lives, I am not their main carer — this project aims to celebrate the men who are. My intention is to stage an exhibition and ultimately produce a book. If you’re a single dad and interested in being photographed, please get in touch at harry@harryborden.com.
Rick Tune and his daughter, Holly, 4 (main image)
My wife, Sarah, died after a 14-month battle with breast cancer on September 7, 2013. Nothing can prepare you for raising children as a single parent, but you slowly find a way to cope. With support from family and friends and a “keeping busy” strategy, each day becomes manageable. My daughter, Holly, my stepdaughter, Sophie, and I fill our weekends by walking and cycling together. This year for Father’s Day we’ll be visiting a local National Trust property — somewhere we went years ago and loved.
My wife, Sarah, died after a 14-month battle with breast cancer on September 7, 2013. Nothing can prepare you for raising children as a single parent, but you slowly find a way to cope. With support from family and friends and a “keeping busy” strategy, each day becomes manageable. My daughter, Holly, my stepdaughter, Sophie, and I fill our weekends by walking and cycling together. This year for Father’s Day we’ll be visiting a local National Trust property — somewhere we went years ago and loved.
“Everything quickly falls apart”. The footballer Rio Ferdinand reveals how he had to become both mum and dad to Tia, 7, Lorenz, 11, and Tate, 9
It’s early May 2015, a few days after my wife, Rebecca, passed away. I’m at home with the kids. We’re late. Not oh-dear-there-won’t-be-much-time-to-play-with-your-friends-before-school-starts kind of late. No. We’re you’ve-already-missed-the-class-register-and-we’re-not-even-out-the-door late.
It’s early May 2015, a few days after my wife, Rebecca, passed away. I’m at home with the kids. We’re late. Not oh-dear-there-won’t-be-much-time-to-play-with-your-friends-before-school-starts kind of late. No. We’re you’ve-already-missed-the-class-register-and-we’re-not-even-out-the-door late.
The kids haven’t been late for school even once in their lives. But then they haven’t had me in sole charge of the school run before. It feels important to keep them in their normal routine, and I’m trying to get them to school, but this is uncharted territory for all of us — and it isn’t pretty. It’s pandemonium.
“Dad, where’s my PE kit?”
“I don’t know, where do you normally keep it?”
“Mum knows where it lives.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. It could be anywhere.
“Dad, this isn’t how Mum cooks eggs.”
“Dad, have you got my dinner money?”
“Dad, you’ve forgotten my pencil case.”
What pencil case? I didn’t even know they used the damned things. I look around frantically. The kitchen is a bombsite. Cereal is scattered all over the countertop. Tia’s pyjamas are in a ball on the floor.
“Come on, kids, we’ve got to go — get in the car, now.”
“But Dad!”
I race along the lanes trying not to break the speed limit. I’m used to driving them to school; I’ve been doing it for years. But it’s never normally like this. What the fuck is going on?
All eyes are on us as we traipse in late, sheepish and flustered. “Look at him,” I imagine them whispering. “It’s chaos. He’s fucked.”
They are not thinking that at all, really. Of course they’re not. But I am. Because the truth is, it is chaos. And I am fucked.
I used to think I was a brilliant dad for driving my kids to school. I would hear mums moan about the school run and think, “What’s their problem? It’s easy.” What I didn’t know was that it was easy because Rebecca did the 99% I didn’t even see.
The kids always had to be at school for 8am. Rebecca would wake them up at 6.15, get them dressed and ready, and they would be downstairs by 7am at the latest. They’d eat a proper cooked breakfast and be ready to go by 7.45. The night before, she would have prepared PE kits, school bags, lunch money, homework; she’d have been in touch with other mums about play dates; she’d have checked the after-school-club calendar.
And me? I would get out of bed and swan downstairs at about 7.55. The kids would get into the car and I’d drive off, congratulating myself on being Superdad.
I had no idea that she was thinking and planning and organising 24 hours a day. Being a mum is all about preparation — and if you don’t get it right, everything quickly falls apart. All this came as a total shock. I didn’t even know who the kids’ GP or dentist was. As a professional footballer you see the club doctor, but now that I was retired I didn’t even know how to set about registering with a surgery. The first time I needed an appointment, I just rang the QPR doctor on autopilot. “Er, Rio,” he had to explain kindly, “you don’t play for the club any more. I’m not your doctor now.”
Extracted from Thinking Out Loud: Love, Grief and Being Mum and Dad by Rio Ferdinand (Hodder & Stoughton £20)
Tony, father of Louise, 9, and Emma, 12
Money can be tight as a single dad, so the girls and I have learnt to keep our pleasures simple and cheap. We love wild swimming. We go to a gorgeous spot beside a meadow — it really is nature at its best, and it brings out the best in us. The girls live with me in term time, and spend a lot of weekends and holidays with their mum. I’m very used to all the parenting tasks as I was brought up by my mum, who was a single mother and a feminist — she expected me to help out with everything. The girls aren’t exactly keen to help out with things like the washing-up, but they do usually make me a card on Father’s Day. I decided to slow my life down to be with the girls, to enjoy every moment. Whenever they perform in a play, or sing in the choir, or have a netball or athletics match, I’m there to watch. At 3.15pm every day, I down tools so I can be fully available for them — usually as a taxi service.
Money can be tight as a single dad, so the girls and I have learnt to keep our pleasures simple and cheap. We love wild swimming. We go to a gorgeous spot beside a meadow — it really is nature at its best, and it brings out the best in us. The girls live with me in term time, and spend a lot of weekends and holidays with their mum. I’m very used to all the parenting tasks as I was brought up by my mum, who was a single mother and a feminist — she expected me to help out with everything. The girls aren’t exactly keen to help out with things like the washing-up, but they do usually make me a card on Father’s Day. I decided to slow my life down to be with the girls, to enjoy every moment. Whenever they perform in a play, or sing in the choir, or have a netball or athletics match, I’m there to watch. At 3.15pm every day, I down tools so I can be fully available for them — usually as a taxi service.
Luke Shaw, dad to Owen, 12, Levi, 10, and Cody, 8
I became a single father to Owen and Levi in 2009, after splitting up with their mother. The following year, I fostered Cody, their half-brother — otherwise he would have gone into care, and I couldn’t allow that. I still struggle to split my time equally among my kids. Levi and Cody are football fanatics, Owen has his own hobbies. It’s hard to keep them all happy. For Father’s Day we’re doing a family get-together at my mum’s house with my brother, who has just adopted a baby with his husband. The hardest time is Christmas and birthdays — times when it feels like they should have a mum and a dad.
I became a single father to Owen and Levi in 2009, after splitting up with their mother. The following year, I fostered Cody, their half-brother — otherwise he would have gone into care, and I couldn’t allow that. I still struggle to split my time equally among my kids. Levi and Cody are football fanatics, Owen has his own hobbies. It’s hard to keep them all happy. For Father’s Day we’re doing a family get-together at my mum’s house with my brother, who has just adopted a baby with his husband. The hardest time is Christmas and birthdays — times when it feels like they should have a mum and a dad.
Kevin Smith, dad to Ben, 7, and Toby, 5
I became a single dad on March 10, 2013 — the end of a journey with cancer that began five years earlier. The children and I watched my wife, Philippa, decline in health and eventually pass away, with me next to her, holding her hand. The hardest part of being a single father is the social dynamics. As a man, I felt there was an expectation that I should be working. But I have to look after the kids, they are my priority. For Father’s Day, we’re going to have a cricket match with my extended family — they all play.
I became a single dad on March 10, 2013 — the end of a journey with cancer that began five years earlier. The children and I watched my wife, Philippa, decline in health and eventually pass away, with me next to her, holding her hand. The hardest part of being a single father is the social dynamics. As a man, I felt there was an expectation that I should be working. But I have to look after the kids, they are my priority. For Father’s Day, we’re going to have a cricket match with my extended family — they all play.
Jon Kyte and his son, Aaron, 7
My wife, Jo, gave birth to Aaron in August 2009. She was diagnosed with secondary breast cancer in her lungs, liver and bones seven weeks after giving birth. She died peacefully while I held her hand in 2013. We always ensured Aaron, then aged 4, was surrounded by love, fun and happiness. Today, we still keep her memory alive any way we can. We’re getting together for tea at my house for Father’s Day — the whole extended family is invited.
My wife, Jo, gave birth to Aaron in August 2009. She was diagnosed with secondary breast cancer in her lungs, liver and bones seven weeks after giving birth. She died peacefully while I held her hand in 2013. We always ensured Aaron, then aged 4, was surrounded by love, fun and happiness. Today, we still keep her memory alive any way we can. We’re getting together for tea at my house for Father’s Day — the whole extended family is invited.
James Lockley, dad of Oliver, 6
My wife, Emily, passed away in October 2014, just before her 39th birthday. Oli had just started school, aged 4. The solo parenting can be lonely and hard — moments like school plays can be bittersweet. With two parents you can tag-team, offload tasks. As a lone parent you don’t have that luxury. Oli is kind, considerate and brave, and hopefully the same boy as if he had his mother raising him. Em would be so proud.
My wife, Emily, passed away in October 2014, just before her 39th birthday. Oli had just started school, aged 4. The solo parenting can be lonely and hard — moments like school plays can be bittersweet. With two parents you can tag-team, offload tasks. As a lone parent you don’t have that luxury. Oli is kind, considerate and brave, and hopefully the same boy as if he had his mother raising him. Em would be so proud.
Dan Downes and his son, Jack, 18 months
I get up at 7 and by the time Jack goes to sleep I’m knackered. The cleaning is never-ending — it feels like my life is housework all day, every day — and an hour later, the mess is back. I couldn’t see a life worth living without Jack. He spends holiday time with his mum. I’ll be working on Father’s Day, but we’ll have a bit of a family do in the evening — probably a curry with my mum and dad, who help look after Jack.
I get up at 7 and by the time Jack goes to sleep I’m knackered. The cleaning is never-ending — it feels like my life is housework all day, every day — and an hour later, the mess is back. I couldn’t see a life worth living without Jack. He spends holiday time with his mum. I’ll be working on Father’s Day, but we’ll have a bit of a family do in the evening — probably a curry with my mum and dad, who help look after Jack.
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